Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr polyjuiced as Alastor Moody/Harry, Barty/Winky
Timeline: Goblet of Fire
Warnings: Adult/minor, noncon
I know this is a highly unlikely scenario, but it made me laugh. Barty is so flat and villainish, wow. So there.
The Potter girl was pretty – but the kind that never did anything about it: her hair was in a permanent state of bed-tousled disregard, her robes buttoned sloppily, and those ridiculous spectacles... But as just about every else in the wizarding world mooned over her, he too found himself observing her in a certain slant of light.
It wasn't long before the First Task's occurrence he began formulating a plan, and what did he care if it fell through. Potter was just a silly little girl, and he was, well... he was him. The scheme involved a little bit of affection, a little coaxing and perhaps his wand if need be. It had been so long since he was buried balls-deep in a warm, wet hole – namely that Lestrange woman, who had offered herself up to the Dark Lord's followers as if it were part of the orientation ceremony. Since then it had been himself or...
...Winky, his father's house-elf.
As it turned out, human bits were too large for house-elf bits. All except for their mouths, with which Winky attended to him almost daily, worshipfully.
"Anything for Master Barty," she'd say, kneeling under the cloak and her large, bulgy eyes nothing but reverent as his prick stretched her cheeks out to an almost comical size. Winky was ugly as any other house-elf, but she'd done her duty and done it well. Besides the utter convenience of having something-someone slavishly devoted to your satisfaction, there was a certain charm in having the mess cleaned up right away...
Alastor Moody was unsightly, to put it delicately. He wondered if the Potter girl would put up much of a fight – he very well couldn't Imperio her, not after that display in class. He must rely on cunning and if not that, spell-o tape and a subsequent memory charm. He was looking forward to it, almost, because the last wet thing he'd had on his cock was his own spunk mingled with Winky's drool and hot tears.
"Potter," he said gruffly after class, as all the students were filtering out, "Haven't gotten the chance to congratulate you on your victory in the First Task."
She looked up at him in what appeared to be alarm, then her features smoothed out to give him a faint, knowing smile. "Not without your help, sir," she said quietly.
He took a swig from his flask, eying her all the while.
"You getting along with your new clues all right?"
At this, her eyes crawled over everything but him. Shame? Doubt? "Er, not yet, sir."
"Maybe you'd like to discuss it over some tea tonight?" Some distant part of his mind laughed at how absurd the phrasing was – as if he were asking her out for a date or something. To make it seem less romantic, or that way inclined, he added: "I've got a hunch about that egg 'o yours."
"Do you?" She looked like she was trying to maintain a mask of interest. Had she already figured it out?
"Well, in any case," he said, his magical blue eye scrutinizing her along with his regular, "You wouldn't mind, would yeh?"
"Of course not! I'll stop by after supper."
And there she went, darting out of the classroom like Death Eaters were nipping at her heels.
He prepared the tea with items he'd filched from Severus Snape's stockroom in the dungeons – the git would likely blame it on one of his students. A couple months in and brewing his own Polyjuice, he was well-acquainted with how Snape had his stock organized and it took only a moment to brew something that would put her in a drugged stupor for a couple hours, at the very least, with her proportions, small thing as she was. Child's play, really.
Shortly after seven o'clock Potter arrived to his office, looking a tad unsure. "Evening, Professor," she said entering, and sat in the large gnarled maroon armchair across from his desk.
"Evening, Potter," he said, taking a sip of tea. He nudged the cup and saucer toward her. Steam rose in tiny spirals, and it looked as normal as any other tea. "Go on, have a cup."
"Thanks," she said.
"You didn't happen to bring that egg along with you, eh? It might help to take a gander." He schooled his voice into something sounding hopeful. She set her tea down and bent to dig through her satchel. He took a moment to review the goods. Something like disappointment built in his throat as his eyes slid over her bony rump (you could tell even under the robes). He'd been in Azkaban as long as she was alive, and he'd even had more meat on him then. It couldn't be helped, he supposed.
She slid it the across the desk to him, where his hands toyed with it in a sort of feigned interest. She resumed her seat in the stuffy armchair, and to his favor, she brought her knees to her chest, seeming to relax. His thumb fiddled with the lock and he shot a covert glance at her face. Her eyelids were drooping. Excellent.
"Yeh've any ideas yet?"
"Mmm.. Cedric...he told me somethin' 'bout...'bout... " her words faltered.
He waited a moment to pounce – the fire flickered merrily in the grate, the clock hands seemed to fighting their way through honey, and quiet had settled over the room until he got up. The familiar ripple of the Polyjuice's abrupt ending fought his skin, and he dumped the remnants of his flask down his throat. Wiping off his lips, he observed the girl. A thick forelock covered her scar, and her long eyelashes fluttered under those ridiculous specs. He used Moody's gnarled, calloused fingers to slap her cheek lightly, to see if the potion's effects had completely taken her out. Not surprising, this slight chit.
It had occurred to him at some point he wouldn't be using his own dick – which had been lovingly fawned over many a night by a house-elf – but Alastor Moody's girthy, and quite veiny, manhood. He wondered how it would be inside Potter. Pissing it was pretty easy, because it was so stubby, compared to his own long thin one. He was already in a state of arousal. Settling Potter's body over the desk and splaying her legs at a comfortable angle, he peeled down her knickers – of course, it had been so long he almost thumped himself on the head not for doing it. He spit on his fingers and coated her pink, warm insides with his saliva. He growled lowly at how tight she felt.
His cock twitched as he leveled himself with her thights, dragging her slightly backward. It was utterly fantastic, better than Winky of course, and that Lestrange woman. His intention was to be quick and he was. The Potter girl's insides gripped him like an ankle sock on Gregory Goyle's foot. With each thrust he grew more and more reckless, not caring if he flooded her insides with his come. (If somehow he did get her pregnant, the child would be his – not Moody's. A slight imperfection that marred an otherwise glowing plan.) One last hump and he jerked forward, his elbows on either side of her body. His seed came in several spurts, spilling mostly over himself but a little on her black robes. He Scourgified them both and then arranged her as she had been.
It was two and a half hours till she came to.
"You conked out on me, Potter," he said with a tinge of amusement as she stretched rather like a cat and yawned, slapping a hand over her mouth when she saw the clock.
"I'm so sorry, sir... Very tired."
"'S alright, Potter. Let me take you back to your common room, then."
"Of course, thanks," she said, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. He walked in tandem a slight smile on his face as all the way back to the Gryffindor tower.